On Sale for Christmas

Petulantly, I took a greedy gulp of my white hot chocolate, savoring the peppermint. "To go where exactly?"

Ben gave one wary glance at his ex, then suggested, "We could help my mom make popcorn garland for the tree. Or we could make snow angels in the park. Or we could make a—"

"I don't wanna make anything with you, Ben," I said, taking another big swallow of my creamy cocoa. "I just wanna make out with you."

He grabbed my hand. "That can be arranged."

Regretful as I was to surrender my drink, I flung my scarf over one shoulder, grabbed up my box of slutty clothes, and let him drag me out into the bright winter day. But before we left the Sweet Shack, I stopped in the doorway, leaned up on my tip toes, and kissed him full in the mouth.

A real kiss. A lingering, full-bodied, kiss with tongue. The kind of kiss that played to an audience and got them clapping. And I was half-certain I heard Gus applaud. Ben was a little dazed in its aftermath, and it was only after we were outside in the parking lot, that Ben threw open the door of his truck for me, and asked, "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

"Maureen was watching. I wanted to irritate her in revenge for whatever horrible thing she did to you."

Ben sagged against the snowy side of his truck. "How do you know she did something horrible to me and not the other way around?"

"I just do," I said slipping into the passenger seat.

Ben had driven about two miles down an icy country road before he finally said, "She told me she was pregnant."

Well this was a new wrinkle. "Broken condom?"

Ben's teeth clenched. "Not that I recall. Also, she was supposed to be on the pill in case one did."

"Condoms and the pill? You don't like to take chances, do you?"

"Well I took one big chance. I didn't ask for a paternity test."

"For fuck's sake, Ben," I said, not sure if I thought he was a saint or an idiot. "Why not?"

"The last thing I wanted to do was start things off by insulting the mother of my hypothetical kid. So I didn't ask."

"Of course you didn't," I said with a sigh. Boy, Nice Guys always did finish last, didn't they?

"Funny thing, though," Ben said, not looking like what he was going to say was especially funny. "Turns out you don't need a paternity test when, an hour before you've got to go on a mission, your girlfriend accidentally emails you pictures of her sucking the real baby daddy's dick. If there was a baby. I'm pretty sure she made up the whole thing just to keep me on the hook in case things didn't work out with the guy in the photos."

"Holy shit," I said, realizing that I'd missed out on a whole lot of drama here at home. "Was that the first time you've seen her since?"

"Yep."

"And you waved to her?" I asked, appalled. "Ben!"

His hands tightened on the wheel. "What else was I going to do?"

I slapped my mittened hand on the dash. "Turn around. You're going to march back into the Sweet Shack and smack her!"

"I don't smack women unless they ask me to."

I gave him a sidelong glance. Well, wasn't he always full of surprises? "Turn around anyway. I'll smack her for you. I'll march in there and kick her ass."

Ben actually laughed. "That's not exactly in the holiday spirit."

I was too outraged to laugh. "She shouldn't be allowed to get away with it. Fuck, if you were a cheerleader, you're almost obligated to break the stereotype and not be a bitch! It's just so cliche. How is it that I never heard about this? My mother is always keen to share gossip about you."

"You're the first person I've told. Stateside, anyway."

I fell silent under the weight of that statement while Ben turned off the main road. By the time he reached the top of the snowy hill, he pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine.

"Pretty scenery," I finally said, eying the pristine snow on the field. "But the sheriff's office is right down that road which makes this not an ideal spot for making out."